Red X, Iron Star
by KarnerBlue
Summary: Red X - If we weren't blessed with a season three. Iron Star - A worst-case scenario. Loss and its consequences. Inspired by Mystery Spot and Ruby's admission in Malleus Maleficarum.
1. Red X

**Title: Red X  
****Date: 2/19/08  
****Genre: Drama/Tragedy  
****Category: TV Shows: Supernatural  
****Rating: K  
****Pairings: None  
****Timeline: Post-Season 2. Spoilers for those who have yet to see the end of Season 2. Ye be warned. **

**Summary  
**If we weren't blessed with a season three… 

**Disclaimer  
**I do not own Supernatural. Supernatural is © Eric Kripke and the CW; whom we thank for not ending it just yet.

* * *

There's a red X on his calendar.

An X because circling it felt wrong. Like he was expecting it, looking forward to it; when in reality there were no words to describe how badly he dreaded that date. He actually had to buy a red pen, there were none at the hotel. The days counting down were marked off with check-marks, to distinguish the date, in any color but red.

Every time Sam looked up and saw a page full of more and more rows of check-marks the block of ice in his stomach would expand some more. He'd quickly turn back to his work, the sound of the clock ticking away drowning out his stray thoughts. Even when there was no ticking clock.

The room Bobby was loaning him was even more cluttered then it had been. Over time, as Sam had gone through more and more books, papers, etcetera, that had lead to dead ends they'd taken to occupying the back wall. They were the proverbial demons chasing him down on his path through the dark. They kept growing in numbers, reminding Sam more and more of all the failed leads. How every one was just another way he couldn't save Dean.

Dean was euphoric. Once he'd given up on pulling Sam away, he'd disappear for hours at a time. Once he'd been gone for a whole day. Bobby had brought it up, interrupting Sam for the first time in twelve hours. Sam had broken away long enough to track the older Winchester down and follow his drunken ass back, shouting and scolding the moment they got in the car together.

It was the first time Sam had remembered there were other things out there. Other things willing to take Dean away sooner.

"Relax, Sam. I've got months left."

However large the number seemed to Dean, it felt equally as small to Sam. It was back to the books; but only after ripping a promise from Dean. That the other would not disappear for days, would not leave for a hunt on his own. Promises weren't always sacred, but Sam was too frantic to get back and desperate enough to take it.

Bobby had no TV. Nothing to occupy a young man who's accepted his time is running out. Dean would come back from the movies, the bar, the store, or from driving and often with something for his brother. He'd stop in, leave it on the edge of the table, and try to draw Sam into a conversation.

"I figure after we go see the Grand Canyon we can really stop and see the country's largest ball of yarn. For once tell the truth to people. How's that sound, Sammy?"

It was Dean's Road Trip. He had a map with dots and everything. The trip ends in Lawrence. For Dean's first gravesite visit that year, and his last.

Bobby barely talks to him. It seems the veteran hunter senses the other's urgency, or he's just a silent bystander to the eventual train wreck. He just comes into the room with food on occasion; usually to drop off books. Ellen calls or stops by, and Sam has to try not to sound ungrateful when he tells her that he's already seen and heard what she has to offer. He comes by Jo sitting with Dean on the porch one day, beers hanging from their hands. Dean convinces him to spare a few moments to say hello.

When she meets his eyes it's there. The pity. By now it doesn't even touch him. There's resignation too. Jo's tough, and more realistic than her mother would give her credit for. She looks at Dean and Sam knows, Sam sees, that there could have been something there between them. Dean probably knows it too. Only Jo's too smart to let herself love a dead man.

For Sam it was far too late.

Then one day Sam tries to stack too many books in the corner of the room, the room that has now shrunk in size, and they fall. Like dominoes they topple one after the other, spilling over the floor. Like the demons spilling from the Devil's Gate in Wyoming. Sam starts shaking. The calendar's rows are full of check marks again. Tomorrow's the first of another month. What's remained of the mountain slumps, and Sam stares. His vision blurs as he sinks to the floor, knocking the chair over with a crash. Footsteps rush through the hall and Dean is kneeling besides him. In the doorway Bobby gapes.

"What the hell?"

"It's okay Sammy," Dean hushes. "It's going to be okay."

Dean tries to sooth Sam like he did when they were kids. Like he did for nights after Jessica's death, and after any nightmare throughout Sam's lifetime. It's now Sam realizes how hollow and meaningless those words are. Just a spell that's lost it's magic. He can't stop, the tears keep coming.

"No it's not," he sobs. "I can't find anything, Dean. I can't find anything at all."

They pack that night. Dean practically does it for Sam, who sits on his mostly unused bed and tries to compose himself. Early the next morning they're on the road. Bobby says goodbye, and for not for the first time since that day months ago allows a brief chick-flick moment as he hugs the older hunter.

"I'm growing sentimental in my old age. Bite me."

Then they're on the road. Sam has been all over the country at his age; but he's never seen so much of it in such a short amount of time. They visit Death Valley. Niagara Falls. The Rocky Mountains. In Yellowstone, Dean times Old Faithful. They visit the Alamo. Washington DC. The Mississippi. Roswell, New Mexico. Area 51; or at least as much as legally possible. Lastly, of course, the Grand Canyon.

Dean insists on staying for the sunset. They sit on the Impala's hood, watching the sky change colors. Sam tries to keep his knee from bouncing, thinking about checking his messages back at the hotel. Dean had torn him away from that room but he could not stop Sam's search all together.

"I expect you to take care of her, of course," Dean says out of the blue. Sam doesn't have to ask. He feels the Impala's cool finish under his palm. "Dad gave her to me, and you can give her to one of your little geeky munchkins I know you'll have one day."

Sam tries to find the humor, tries to soak up the contentment Dean's been radiating for the past hour. He does manage to pull his hand out of his pocket and stop fingering his PDA. His focus becomes riveted on his older brother. This man who had raised him since he was four years old, as much, if not more than their father ever had. He wishes he hadn't spent so much time fearing what the demon wanted him to become; and spent more time making himself stronger. He'd been telekinetic when Dean had needed him. Why hadn't he ever tried to practice that? John would've killed Jake. Sam's pretty certain Dean would have too. He had anyway, in the end. Just not when it counted.

What did killing a few strangers matter? If it meant keeping the last person you cared about in this world.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean is trying to reassure him again.

"It's not, and I'm not five anymore," Sam wants to tell him. Instead he looks away, choked. The pink and blue sky blurs before he closes them. Sniffing, Sam composes himself. He shrugs off Dean's hand when he feels it on his shoulder.

Dean turns his eyes to the horizon once more. His face twists with that wistful smirk Sam's been noticing lately. "You've got your whole life ahead of you, Sammy. Whatever you want to do with it now."

John's death was sudden. Like a sucker punch, it'd rocked them off kilter. They'd regained equilibrium. They were Winchesters. They weren't given a lot of time to go through the denial and bargaining stages. Dean's managed to skip right to acceptance. Either that or he passed the other four when Sam wasn't looking. Sam's gotten past the denial for now, but he keeps starting over at stage two after a few days or weeks of stage four. Sam doesn't want to reach stage five. Ever. It's his turn again to be the belligerent one again.

"For someone who keeps saying they're not a five anymore you keep acting like it," Dean snaps during one of his lapses in patience. "My hands are tied, Sammy. I know you want to but if you keep going at it like this it'll have been for nothing! Don't do that to me, Sammy.

_The dead should stay dead_, Sam wants to respond. Only that could be taken two ways.

"You could open the door," Ellen offers the last time they see her. "Like John. After they," she hesitates to choose her words. "After they come for him, you could just let him out. You have the Colt still. I'll help you."

That's not the kind of help Sam's looking for. It's not good enough.

The last week they spend in a rather expensive hotel, courtesy of Aframian. They visit the old house. Jenny offers the guest room but both turn it down at the same time. Neither Winchester is still able to negotiate the quaint suburban home and the nightmare of their memories just yet. They visit Missouri. She's crying before they can even let out a word. They visit Mary's grave on the last day. Dean kneels in front of it and rests a hand over where Sam left John's dog tags. The grass has grown over.

"Salt and burn me, Sammy," Dean tells him gruffly.

By now Sam's resolve has dried his tears. He stands stiffly, hands in his pockets, harsh eyes on the gravestone. Dean stands, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"I don't care what you do with the ashes, but make sure I don't come back." Sam hears it echo in his tone. _I don't want to come back to a world like this. I don't want to become what we hunt._ "Not that there's much chance," Dean observed, voice soft.

Sam wonders what hell holds in store for his brother.

They get back to their room and for a long moment just sit on their own beds, facing each other. Both looking at the space between them. One searching for anymore words, the other too resigned to hear them. The calendar on the nightstand is full of checks that stop abruptly a space before a bright red X.

Dean has set everything down to the last detail. Before dawn he'll go out to the parking lot and drive back to the cemetery. There he'll blast Metallica, walk far enough away so the Impala doesn't get scratched, and wait for his maker. He expects, has expressed his expectations, that Sam remain behind in the hotel.

Neither sleep.

The alarm goes off. Dean silences it and stands.

"Time to roll."

For whatever reason, Dean has picked out a very specific outfit for this occasion. The same way someone committing suicide might finish up some last details before going. First, though, a shower.

"I'll be doing a lot of sweating I guess. Probably be my last acquaintance with water, after all."

Sam sits on the bed and listens to the shower running. Listens to the door click shut. Waits. Counts to thirty. _Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty…. _

Standing, Sam drags the desk chair over to the bathroom door and inserts it under the doorknob. Moving to his bag he pulls out a bag of that voodoo dust, carefully applying it in front of the door and around the chair. They may be in the luxury suite, but it's not that nice a hotel. They're on the second floor and the bathroom's single window is too small for a full grown person. The windowsill is already layered in a coat of the dirt anyway. 

Sam adds the dust to the windows and the door of the room. He's just finishing up with the extra barrier of salt when the shower turns off. There's a long pause, long enough for Sam to refocus and finish the job. He's returned to his bag by the time the doorknob rattles. Again he pauses.

A rattle.

"Sammy?"

More rattling, the door trembles a bit this time. Sam turns back to his bags, pulls out a shotgun.

"Sammy!"

Dean pounds on the door. Sam loads the shells calmly.

"Sam! Open this door!"

Sam pulls the other chair from the table near the window, positioning it in front of the bathroom door. Crouching down he arranges his arsenal carefully before taking a seat. Dean pounds away.

"Sam! Damn it, Sam!"

"I won't let them take you, Dean," Sam shouts over his shoulder.

There's a pause. Then a harsh, loud bang. Dean's kick has failed to make the door yield. The chair jerks but is supported by the carpeting. Still, Dean tries again. After the second he shouts once more.

"Sammy! Don't do this!"

"What happened to the rules, Dean? What's dead should stay dead! So those don't apply to me?"

"It's not the same, Sam! You don't get it! It's not the same!"

A growl silences them both. Sam's eyes focus on the door. Against the hall light shadows move under the edge of the door. Sam lifts the shotgun, aiming.

"You can't save me, Sam!"

There's scratching at the door. Sam tries to calm his beating heart. This isn't rational, he knows. He isn't going to help anybody.

"Quit being a child!"

The door bursts open. He can't see anything but he can smell it. Sulfur. Scratch marks appear on the line of dirt, rapidly peeling it away. They tear through the salt faster.

"Sammy!"

Sam aims.

"You can't have him."

* * *

**Word Count: 2,330 **

**Author's Notes **

I wrote this before the premier of season 3, so naturally everything is wonderfully _wrong_. 

I don't actually know where Dean would want to visit, or how long it would take to accomplish. I also don't know if Mary's grave is anywhere close to Lawrence, Kansas. I have a plate of salt and tweezers so everyone can take my assumptions with a grain.

The stages referred to are the stages of grief according to the Kubler-Ross model, if you're unfamiliar. They are as follows: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and the last stage being acceptance. Not that the Winchesters are very good at step five, of course.

Jo seems to have disappeared in the series. Can't say I'll miss her too much; she wasn't given much time. Maybe next season. I hope I portrayed the characters well enough. Half way through I was worried I was making Sam a bit too weepy. I know I kind of copped out on Dean. I think he's far too patient in this; far too accepting. I let it go because it's been one of the rare times where I've ever been able to really focus on Sam.

I'd appreciate hearing your comments. This is my first posted fan fiction on any sight. Thoughts? Opinions on how I portrayed the characters? Please leave them in a review. I'm also a bit of a technophobe and still getting used to using this site; so if anything looks weird please tell me.


	2. Iron Star

**Title: Iron Star  
****Completed: 3/7/08  
****Genre: Action/Angst  
****Rating: T  
****Timeline: Post-Season 02. Sequel to Red X.**

**Summary  
**Sequel to Red X, though it can still stand-alone. The aftermath and its consequences.  
**  
Disclaimer  
**I do not own Supernatural. Supernatural is © Eric Kripke and the CW. I do 'own' some original characters.

**Warnings  
**Original characters who get more than a little air time! For more spoiler-warnings see the end of the page.

* * *

The cemetery was deserted.

Naturally. Of course it was. It was like eleven o'clock. Who would be in a cemetery at this time of night? No one. Except a group of hunters. The old graveyard was quiet, even the crickets seemed subdued. It felt eerie. Except most cemeteries do in the middle of the night, and Cal Henry had been to enough of them to know that. Which was why he was he was so confused about why they were bothering with these maneuvers.

Coming to crouch behind a tombstone, the young man glanced to his side as he was joined by his friend and fellow hunter Rebecca MacKenzie. For a moment both held position, silent, backs against the stone. Except Cal's nerves were getting the best of him. Breaking the unspoken rule he whispered intensely.

"Why exactly are we playing Delta Force again?"

Giving him a cold glare, Bec looked off towards the large statue.

"Winchester said we might confront hostiles."

Cal had to keep himself from laughing at the term. Bec was dead serious and didn't appreciate his humor. Fortunately his anxiety made it easy to suppress a smile. Slowly he scanned the area.

"Like what? Zombies? Ghouls? Demons?"

_Damn_, a part of him thought. If his parents heard him right then they'd roll their eyes and think he was talking about WOW or something. The thought did a little to relieve the tension.

"Don't know," Bec answered simply.

"But Dante really trusts this guy?"

Now Bec glanced towards him, gaze critical.

"Don't you?"

It was a question Cal had yet to answer for himself. The only reason he was even here was because of Becca and Dante. The latter was the one who'd recruited them in a way. Cal had known Dante only long enough to know the guy was experienced and good at what he did. Dante had helped him out of a tight spot more than once, and for that Cal trusted him. Except at the same time, in a way he couldn't manage to describe, Cal was pretty sure that if one of them ever turned out to be some kind of double-agent or one of those stock characters it would be him. Dante was just struck him as shady.

As for not trusting Winchester there were a hundred different responses ready on his tongue, but movement caught both their attention. Falling silent both rose and approached the target, quickly ducking behind the first available cover. Cal felt his stomach sink as he saw the subject of his conversation crouch down behind the gravestone to his left.

Winchester was tall. Six foot something. Taller than Cal anyway; and intimidating. Then again he had to be in his thirties by the look of him. Tall, lean, he looked tough as nails and wasn't someone Cal wanted to mess with. The scars only added to the image. Harsh, jagged marks that crossed the man's face and neck; it looked like someone had cut him up. Someone or _some thing_. Cal only realized he was staring when Winchester turned to meet his gaze with sharp eyes. Reflexively Cal looked away.

_Damn if this guy doesn't spook me as bad as a real ghost._In all there were four of them. Winchester, Bec, Dante, and himself. The cemetery dated back to the days of cowboys and Indians, in the middle of Wyoming. The reason they were there was the Colt. According to both Dante and Winchester the antique of a firearm could kill any demon with a single bullet. Cal hadn't seen it in action but he'd heard from those who had; and if Dante's word was enough for Bec he supposed it was enough for him. At least, usually it was.

Legs cramping, Cal switched to kneel on one knee. Twisting he slowly glanced out from behind his cover to the mausoleum. That's where the other Colts were supposed to be. Well, they might not all be guns, Winchester had warned. With the black clouds of demons that had been appearing lately, and the emergence of Lilith, it didn't really matter. They needed anything they could get their hands on. It might even be better if they weren't firearms. Bullets were hard to come by and no ordinary ones would do.

There was someone there. Lounging near the door.

"Holy shit!"

Ducking back down, Cal glanced over at their unofficial leader in alarm. Winchester was using a small mirror to get a look. Cautiously Cal took another peek.

It looked like a woman. Tall, blonde, pretty. Not threatening at all. Except that in and of itself was enough to make Cal finger the safety on his SIG. He still had scars from the succubus that had nearly killed him in Seattle.

Pocketing the mirror, Winchester spared him a glance.

"What now?"

Cal watched as their unofficially appointed leader glanced towards where Dante and Bec were probably holed up. He held up a hand and made a circling motion. Shadows moved in the distance. Winchester glanced over at him and answered.

"Cover me. She's not alone."

With that the man stepped out into the open and approached slowly, the Colt aimed and ready. Getting more comfortable, Cal took careful aim. From his position he watched the two come together. The woman seemed unperturbed by the weapon, though her face was a detached mask. At the first sign of movement she'd already drawn her own gun and aimed it at Winchester's chest. They spoke softly; Cal couldn't make out any words.

Stooped there like that, firearm trained, Cal wondered how the hell the Marines and army personnel did this for hours. His back was aching, his muscles sore. Sweat tickled his neck, trickled past his brow down the ridge of his nose to sting his eye. Blinking and squinting, the young man attempted to keep his breathing even as he strained to catch the conversation.

So focused was he that Cal didn't notice the approaching presence until it was too late. There was the sound of grass crunching under the sole of a boot, a loud click, and Cal whirled to meet the interloper. Half way around he felt something blunt poke him between the shoulder blades painfully. Abruptly he froze.

"You are one dumb kid," a familiar voice muttered.

"Knox?"

"Gun on the ground," Joshua Knox spoke coolly. "Hands in the air."

Head spinning in befuddled surprise, Cal hesitated. The muzzle of the firearm prodded his vertebrae sharply.

"I'll hurt you if I have to kid."

Slowly Cal obeyed, heart hammering in his chest.

"Hands on your head."

"What's going on, Knox?"

There was a shot in the distance. Cal jumped but didn't think to go for his weapon. Knox quickly grabbed it, pocketing the firearm. More shots followed and Cal found his face being pressed into the cold dirt, Knox frisking him for more weapons. Tilting his head the younger hunter sputtered, confused and afraid.

"What the hell?!"

"Relax," Knox pressed one knee on Cal's back.

The weight was enough to keep him pinned, and Cal didn't dare risk making a move without more information. He did intend to protest the command on principle, but more gunshots followed. From his vantage point, cheek against the grass, the hunter couldn't see a thing.

Thoughts rushed through his head. He'd come here expecting demons, maybe a ghoul, but not other hunters! What the hell was Joshua up to and who was with him?!

Silence stretched out. For a long moment Cal feared for Bec, his thoughts drifting briefly to Dante. Then Knox was off him and ordering him to his feet. Like a criminal on Cops or some detective show Cal was marched out into the open, hands still on his head. The muzzle of Knox's gun hovered near the back of his neck.

The cold night air seemed to sink into his bones. Without moving his head Cal caught what he could through his peripheral. He was shocked to see that at some point Winchester had disarmed the pretty blonde. He now had her from behind, gun aimed at her jaw. Bec was in a Mexican standoff with another hunter who looked like Chase Avery, though his features were shadowed. Dante had another woman on the ground, firearm aimed at her head. She was holding her arm but Cal couldn't see the extent of the injury. There was a body on the ground. Cal could just see the lower half lying limply. His heart jumped in his throat as he wondered if the person was dead. Because if he was that would mean one of the other three wasn't just packing rock salt. Dante had given him a real, loaded handgun but he'd thought that just for precaution!

There were others, as well. At least two in his line of vision with weapons trained on Winchester. Movement shifted out of the far right near Dante, which was probably why the other was holding still. The two Cal could see, Jefferson and another woman, spread apart slowly. It wasn't until she spoke that Cal recognized her as Ellen Harvelle.

"Sam," Ellen shouted. "Let her go!"

Cal glanced at Winchester, but the other didn't respond.

"You can't go through with this Sam."

"You're the one who gave me the idea, Ellen!"

"I know I did, Sam. I was trying to give you hope. I didn't mean-"

"I'm not leaving him down there," Winchester broke her off. His voice was different from usual; torn, upset. Betrayed.

"He knew what he was doing Sam," Jefferson bellowed. "He did it for you."

"I know that! Don't you think I know that?!"

Cal gaped. He'd never seen Winchester so violent, so desperate. Her jerked his human shield roughly, the Colt pressed tightly against her throat. The blonde gasped, digging her nails into the arm around her.

"Let her go," Jefferson commanded smoothly. "We've got you outnumbered. Let her go, turn over the Colt, and nobody gets hurt."

Winchester scoffed. His laugh was harsh and bitter. It made Cal's stomach knot with dread. He'd known something wasn't right with this guy.

"What the hell is going on," he dared to murmur.

The silence stretched out, tension thick in the air. The only sound the young hunter could pick up was his own ragged breathing and the occasional thunder clap in the distance. Even the crickets seemed to fall mute. Finally Knox spoke.

"You didn't tell them, did you Sam?"

Winchester didn't answer, face stone.

"Becky," Knox called. "He didn't tell you about the pentagram did he? Dante?"

Trying to move as minimally as possible, Cal glanced at the two. Both remained stock still, weapons ready.

"The railroads and churches make a pentagram around this place," Knox continued. "You know why?"

Frantically Cal recalled the map. Hadn't there been something strange about the area? Lately he always tried to keep an idea of where the nearest church was for safety reasons; but there had been five hadn't there? All equally distanced from the cemetery. Five points. Railroad tracks. Cal's eyes widened and he inhaled sharply.

"Holy-"

"It's a Devil's Gate, Becky," Knox finished. He sounded sympathetic.

_An iron star and a Devil's Gate. A real gateway to Hell._

"Did he tell about his brother Dean," Jefferson continued Knox's lead. "A bit too much like his father. Dealt away his soul."

"Shut up!"

_What?_

"Is that true?"

Cal watched Bec, freezing when Knox shifted behind him. Cautiously Bec glanced at Winchester before focusing once more on Chase.

"Is it true, Sam?"

Cal watched their leader, waiting for a response.

"…It is, Becca. It's true; and you'd be doing the same thing if you were in my shoes."

"The same goes for you, Sam," Jefferson reminded.

"No! No," Winchester protested vehemently. "I would understand. I would get it if a person came to me asking for help to save a person they cared about from the _bowls of Hell_!"

"You do this Sam, and you'll just be releasing more demons into the world," Ellen reminded. "Do you want that? Do you, Dante?"

Dante seemed unaffected, but Bec was no longer so confident. Cal was having trouble finding his own place in this situation.

"If that's what it takes!"

"Damn it, Sam! What would Dean say?!"

"I don't _care_! I honestly don't care! Dean wasn't thinking of me! When he made that deal he wasn't thinking what it would do to me! Well this is what it did!"

Cal wondered what Winchester was like before. If he would've liked him better when his brother had still been around. Now he was just another jaded, tough as nails warrior who only lived for the hunt. A heart of wood, and it was rotting.

"Think of them, Sam," Ellen appealed. "Think of John and Jess."

"I am thinking of them. I'm thinking of all the people who are down there." Winchester grinned viciously, the scars on his face stretching. "Do you know where demons come from Ellen? Do you know what they were?" The smile vanished, his eyes burned with conviction. "I will not hunt my brother!"

In the distance, thunder rolled.

"That gate is not opening, Sam," Jefferson said stonily. "One way or another that Colt is coming back with us."

"Do you think you can do it, Ellen," Sam taunted. "do you think you can shoot me from here? Careful, you might hit Jo."

That's when Cal noticed Jo was moving. Reaching up and tugging at something hanging around her neck, she crushed the gem in her hand. It broke so easily it seemed to be made of glass, the clear contents splashing Winchester's hands. There was a hissing sound and steam escaped from the man's skin. Screaming in pain, Sam threw the woman to the ground and aimed. In the same instant shots rang through the air. Cal watched from where Knox shoved him to the ground. Winchester's body jerk from the impact as he stumbled back against the mausoleum's door, slumping to sit on the ground.

Ellen hurried forward and pulled her daughter away. Jo was crying, clinging to her mother. All eyes were trained on the fallen man's body.

It started shaking. Just slightly, in the shoulders. Winchester trembled with laughter. A dark, malicious sound that seemed to sink down and breath ice over Cal's heart.

Sam Winchester lifted his head. His eyes were pitch black, even the whites. His face, spattered with his own blood, twisted into some sick semblance of a grin. A voice that echoed with something dark sent a chill down their spines.

"Here they come," he said.

It was then they realized the approaching sound wasn't thunder. The sky went dark.

* * *

**  
Author's Notes  
**When I first wrote Red X it was complete in my mind. I'd imagined both dying at the hands (or rather paws) of hellhounds and Dean's soul being dragged to hell. Except I was so elated over my first reviews and alerts I got to thinking about what I could possibly do for a sequel; and after watching Mystery House this popped into my head. My thought is this would occur chronologically at least a year or two following Dean's death.

There are quite a few original characters in this; though I tried to keep to the hunters briefly alluded to in prior episodes. I also tried to keep it fast-paced rather than bog it down with character back-story.

In case you're confused Iron Star takes place after a major time skip following Red X. Sam survived being mauled by the hellhounds but Dean was taken despite his efforts. The story is told from Cal's POV because when I had the idea it was from an outsider's and stranger's perspective, a greenhorn hunter. I also decided that Ellen's words in Red X about helping Sam open the Gate felt a bit rash and OOC for her.

Michael "Cal" Henry, Rebecca MacKenzie and Dante Smith are my original characters in all ways imaginable; though I can't say I'd fight for them. Jefferson is mentioned once in Asylum (1x10). Joshua is referred to in Faith (1x12), but his last name isn't given. I got Chase from 2Chase6 on the Hunter's Blog from the season 1 DVD special features.

I've had to reformat this a couple of times, so hopefully the spacing isn't off. Thoughts and opinions? Questions? What you liked/hated most? Did I completely ruin it by including OCs?

**Warnings!  
**Up to two OMC, OFC, OC that have names mentioned in the show (or otherwise) but have no actual character. Major time skip from Red X, starting towards the 'end' of things. Evil!?Sam. Dead!Dean, who's soul is in hell and has been for a good long while.


End file.
